My Freedom Challenge. A story about a blanket, life lessons and a bike race. (I)

The Race Across South Africa takes place in June/July each year. It is a 2300 km ( with a total cumulative ascent is over 37000 metres), non-stop, self-navigated mountain bike race starting in Pietermaritzburg KwaZulu-Natal and ending in Wellington near Cape Town. Riders are allowed a maximum of 26 days to complete the ride.

Blistered sore feet from the hours of carrying my bike through the bush, tired sore legs from carrying my bike over bolder sized scree and climbing through bush too thick for a hiker let alone a dummy carrying a bike. Day 23 of my Freedom challenge and I was about to have my first sense of humour failure. Each time I threw my bike 5metres in front of me then scrambled or sort of swam through the thick bush to get to my bike and repeat I found myself wondering “what the fuck am I doing here!!”. The only thing keeping me going was the idea that this should be the last day on the trail if I kept pushing myself. That, and desperately not wanting to loose sight of Johnny in front of me as he claimed to know an easy way out. It’s been said before, but I’ll say it too, had this been day one, I may not have started day 2. But, every story should start somewhere near the start I guess.

Though only* a journey of 2300km/24 days the intensity of this event works as a petri dish for experiences and emotions, and I’m sure for many it falls into the category of “Life changing” or something close. To describe the stunning scenery, meetings with amazing hosts and riders, and of course the personal journey of something like the Freedom Challenge is close to impossible via a couple of blog posts. But here’s my half arse attempt all the same :).

(*With “only” I’m referring to the fact that many of my previous trips have been 1-12 months in duration.)

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Twelve hours before the official start of the Freedom Challenge Race Across South Africa 2017 a courier finally delivered my bike and baggage which had been delayed in Frankfurt. Not quite the relaxing pre race day I’d hoped for. I’d spent the afternoon hanging around with other riders while they prepared and I waited (Phillipa, John M, John B). Phillipa, like myself was new to RASA, her choice to leave her mudguards and rack on her bike was quite a discussion point among the South Africans and FC staff. Given her background I figured her tenacity and experience would see her through the race despite her not taking the cookie cutter approach to her bike choice.

Listening to the training John and John had done in the previous months was quite intimidating. Especially as both had previously attempted the FC and had to bail close to the end. John M talked of his Sunday rides with friends that start with a 800m climb, John B had a personal trainer and was training 5-6 days a week. I live in the Netherlands and hadn’t seen a hill in a year or so. I remained calm and hoped my “minimum effective dose” approach to training and the fact that I had youth on my side (never thought I’d think that at 42), I also have years of experience cycle touring in all conditions that I hoped would see me through the darker moments. I know my body and mind well and the idea that all I had to do each day was make it to a support station and I’d have water, food and a bed. From a logistics point of view 5 star touring for me as I usually travel totally self supporting. With only 6-7kg of baggage I’ve never had the luxury of travelling so light.

D-day: Years after first hearing about FC and thinking it far above my league. It was finally 6am under the clock at town hall in Pietermaritzburg(PMB).

” You will be escorted from the start at Pietermaritzburg city hall to the entrance to Bisley nature reserve”

Its hard to say if the exit from PMB is a farce, necessary evil or faff. Though the escort vehicle out of town is well meant, the combination of stoplights, chasing the hazard lights of the escort vehicle through city suburbs and diesel smog from taxi’s takes away most of the euphoria of finally starting the FC, quite the anti climax really. Without too much ceremony we were told we’d entered Bisley nature reserve and were wished good luck. The 2300km ride through rural South Africa could start in ernest.

Before the first turn off Phillipa had already disappeared into the bushes, either through nerves or water/food issues, but her ride had already gotten started on the wrong foot. I counted my blessings that my usually soft European guts were still ok. The Johns were plodding away nicely and I was happy to hang back and rely on their experience on the nav front. The map wasn’t agreeing with my odometer, it was going to take some getting used to using a 1:50000 map again instead of GPS (gps is not allowed on the FC).

At the third turnoff I found myself in front due to several gates.

” Keep left through the loading areas and pick up the farm access leading SW along the fence”

Which left? the sharp left? the diagonal left? fence? the map showed a three way junction, the loading area was a 4-5 way junction. Phillipa spotted power lines ahead that crossed the track that we needed just like on the map. I agreed and we headed off on the diagonal left(more straight ahead in hindsight). 200m later John B said he didn’t think it was the right way and stopped to check the map. We stopped too and it soon became obvious he was right, both paths had a power line crossing the track and we needed to be heading South. Bugger, 3rd turnoff and already a nav blunder, and after so much prep, my confidence took a nose dive. We crossed a field and were soon on track again.

Heading for the Baynesfield estate I once again hung back, John M was a little faster than me and I didn’t want to force things on day 1. The distances didn’t seem right on the map, but I knew it was just a case of getting used to the scale. As we passed through the estate I stayed behind John M, and the others, happy to let John do the nav and get acclimatised in the meantime and mainly just happy to be on the road and especially happy to be back in Africa again.

It didn’t take long before John (without words) made it quite clear that he had no intention of being the workhorse just because he’d been here before. He was right, I moved forward, sharpened up and got my nav hat on for the 10-15km until we took a break at the 34km marker.

For me it was clear, I’d practiced this on many previous trips knowing one day I’d be here. “Don’t waste time, eat, drink, pee, change map/narrative page, go..” Knowing day 1 is about 100km and with around 2500-3000m of climbing there really isn’t time for a picnic (even though I really would of liked to).

John M and I were ready to go a few minutes later but the others were still busy. It seemed silly and impolite to race off just because we were more efficient. Though RASA is officially a race, it was fairly obvious that as an amateur the only person I was racing was myself and to race off on day one was fairly pointless and silly, I kept my boy ego in check and waited.

The climb started gently so John suggested we start walking, we could start riding when the others caught up. Later I lost John some time during the climb, and had some doubts at the junction near the top of the watershed, but pushed on and stopped for lunch at the top. Two minutes later John M arrived and also had a quick snack, Phillipa road straight past us up the wrong track without seeing us, she was having the same problems with the map that I’d had earlier in the day. Just as John was asking how far we should let her go before shouting I’d already called her name. We pushed on without a sign of John B despite waiting another couple of minutes for him. It seemed a shame to split so soon but my mind was focused on the fact that this was a monster of a day and I didn’t have time to wait around for others (sorry John). We lost Phillipa in no time (another toilet break I think) The next turn off was a tricky one so we waited a couple of minutes so she wouldn’t miss it. Then we cracked on, again we were faster especially once the first portage started up towards Cunninghams Castle (note to others: practice lifting/carrying your bike before you leave home). We waited a couple of times for Phillipa but couldn’t see her after the climb. I’d already decided I was just going to crack on at my own pace. It took John a little longer before he stopped looking back, such a gentleman. Again it looked much different to what I imagined and what I saw on the map, John’s assertion that we where on the right track saved me a lot of time in self doubt and looking at the map.

We took a wrong turn into the now deserted Minerva then a bouncy descent (I was riding a rigid steel 26″ bike, John would later call me the flying Dutchman) to the road leading to Byrne and a lunch stop at the hotel there. Now just the two of us, John and I could start working on a pact for our mutual benefit(would we ride the whole FC together?) . I could certainly use his experience and he gave the impression he’d like a riding companion (though on his terms and each at his own pace). ” we need to keep the lunch break short and get cracking, we still have the Umkomaas valley to do” …” Yup” . We arrived and the service was great, a greeting and handshake from the manager of the hotel, ladies that disappeared to fill water bottles and get soup, and a nice buffet and pot of tea to set us up for pt2 of day 1. It seemed cheeky to eat and run but I assume hosts on the FC are used to that by now. 20 minutes later we were moving again.

A little up and down and before we knew it we were looking down on the Umkomaas valley. Dot watchers know this part of the route well as do many riders who have gotten lost, camped out or quitted their FC here. I’d had several sleepless nights about a couple of parts of the FC. The Umkomaas, Vuvu valley, and Osseberg jeep track. It was still early so we had a couple of hours daylight left, this and the fact that John had been here before gave me confidence that despite all the horror stories, at least we shouldn’t have to sleep out down there like many before us, maybe Umkomaas wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The descent is horrible(Just after this photo), a steep concrete path that is too steep to ride (safely) and almost too steep to walk down. Several riders have ended their FC over the years here by trying to ride down and ended up face planting or flying and breaking bones or loosing teeth. Once at the bottom it is a hunt to find the path. Luckily John found it much quicker than I would have, had I been alone. We spent the next hour or two following the path (or trying to find it again) through bush, woods, thorns and along the river. I learned a lot from John in the valley, things I could use during the rest of FC. Simple bushcraft and logic that you only have to hear once. ” Think like a cow or herder boy, they’re both lazy fuckers, look for the route they would take and you’ll find the path.” (John:You have no idea how often I thought of this sentence and used it to my advantage 🙂 )

Luckily the last couple of kilometres to the bridge has been opened up by the nice folks at the Hella Hella outdoor centre so was kind of rideable. Once at Hella Hella we also stopped to refill our now very dry water bottles, I think if this was an intermediate stop, few people would push on. By now it was around 4pm (I think) and the view of the road cut into the mountain up Hella Hella was quite intimidating after such a tough day. Usually I’m a strong climber and can grind for hours in my lowest gear. But I was knackered and pathetic. I once again took John’s advice and chose to push more than usual to save my knees. ” Your knee’s will thank you 3 weeks from now”.

With Hella Hella behind us it should have been too easy, but 3000m into a 12 hour day I was pretty much spent. The last kilometers seemed to go on for ever, we took the turnoff to the Allendale farm at dusk. A warm welcome, wonderful food and hot shower awaited us. The perfect end to an amazing and tough day 1, I was one day closer to a blanket I once thought unobtainable.

Later in the evening John B arrived, poor guy had had a tough day, having cramps in his thighs at Minerva, and apparently Phillipa was staying at Byrne to let her guts recover a little. For me it was a great luxury to end a day of riding with someone to talk to about the day and share chores at dinner, the luxury of having a warm meal waiting for me and John making a cup of tea after dinner is not something I’m used to after a day of riding. John talked about the infamous tricky exit out of Allendale the next day. ” We need to box clever tomorrow”. I was all ears.

The toughest day of the Freedom challenge was done, only 23 toughest days to go.

Hey Shane, great write up! Brings back fond memories. I am busy sorting out all the crap trying to reorganize building a new home early next year. Big problem is that I am contemplating the FC again! One part of my stupid brain says that I must finish something i have started and the more conservative approach side of my brain is pulling up the handbrake. I will probably do the section from Rhodes to Cradock again as this is a beautiful adventure. So we will just have to wait and see! Hope life is treating you well. Regards

Excellent story so far!!! Thanks Shane, just sorry I couldn’t keep up with the Flying Dutchman and John M on day 1. Looking forward to the next installment. Keep writing and keep peddling. Still unfinished business for me!